


For Justice!

by liketolaugh



Category: Bleach, Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Human Trafficking, Ichigo and Matt are undergrad roommates and tbh that's all you need to know, Vigilantism, drug mention, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 16:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12039444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: Informally, they called it 'drunk justice'.





	For Justice!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God, this is a mess. The beginning of a crack AU a friend and I made that developed into- a lot. *grin* There'll be a lot more to this universe, eventually, but this is a good introduction I think. Now, author has never been drunk before, nor has she spent much time around drunk people, so the depiction probably has some issues. Oops. *shrug*

“I smell _rohypnol,”_ Matt growled mutinously, lolling forward onto the table in front of him, leaning heavily on one arm. The world swayed and dipped a little around him, the natural movement of scents and air currents seemingly exaggerated, but that one was clear in his nose.

Ichigo bristled, a rustle of clothing and the thunk from setting his glass back on the table. “Where?” he demanded, sharp with intent.

At the same time, Ishida sniped, “This is a bar, of _course_ you smell rohypnol.”

There was a trace of bitterness in his tone, but Ichigo didn’t seem to notice it – he was already slamming his hand angrily on the table.

All three of them were drunk; it was as clear in the sway of their bodies as in the trace of blood-alcohol Matt could smell, distinct from the stink of the bar around them. It wasn’t the first time Matt had gone drinking with Ichigo – that’s what happened when you were college roommates – so he had an idea already of how this night was gonna go. (He looked forward to it.)

Ishida, of course, had no such clue, having gone drinking with Ichigo before but never with _both_ of them. A grin, feral and fierce, curled Matt’s mouth.

Ichigo didn’t notice. “Rohypnol!” he hissed, indignation reverberating along every note of his voice. “Who the fuck- _does_ that? It shouldn’t-” Hiccup. “Be _normal.”_

“Mm,” Ishida hummed, one foot starting to tap against the ground incessantly. “People are awful, Kurosaki, you know that.”

“Yeah!” Ichigo snapped, and hit the table again, making it rattle slightly. “I do! An’ I _beat ‘em up for it!”_

Matt tuned them both out, letting the conversation slip into the dull roar of the bar. He tipped his head back, focused his four, no, five now, senses, and- there. A man at the bar itself, tapping the wood impatiently, with a plastic packet crinkling in his pocket and a slight buzz of reiatsu indicating an occasional fighter, leaning too close to a woman whose heart was beating fast.

“What kind of difference will that make?” Ishida demanded crossly, and there was a thump and a growl as he kicked Ichigo in the leg. “Stupid.”

Matt pushed himself up from the table, stumbled slightly, caught himself, and picked his way carefully through the crowd. He still bumped against people as he passed, but most of them didn’t take much notice.

Left pocket, he identified after another moment of concentration, and the man’s heart sped up as well as he leaned closer. Matt scowled to himself, and then, easily, bumped the man as he passed, patted his leg in apology, and stole the bubbled package from his pocket.

He returned to the table in short order and, ignoring Ichigo and Ishida’s continuing argument, tossed the packet onto the table.

“Dick,” Matt muttered, candid and cross, while Ishida’s breath hitched a little in surprise.

“Did you just steal date rape drugs in the middle of a crowded bar.” Ishida’s tone was surprisingly flat.

Matt frowned at the table. “Should I throw them away or flush them down the toilet?”

“Toilet,” Ichigo said immediately, temperature rising slightly in anger. “Pocket it for now though.”

Matt nodded and stuffed them away, and just as Ishida started to draw breath to speak again, the asshole from before noticed that his pockets were suspiciously empty and slammed his hands loudly on the bar.

“Who fucking pickpocketed me!” His voice rose effortlessly over the din.

The room hushed, just for a split second, and Matt’s own breathing picked up a little as the familiar heat of anger started to spread languidly out from his chest, fingers tightening around his retrieved cane. The woman’s heart started to beat harder, more irregularly; she was frightened now.

It was Ichigo, though, a little drunker than the other two, who took the bait.

“Why don’t you fucking tell them what they stole, huh?” he snapped, rising to his feet and bristling all over. The man’s breath hitched in surprise, and Ichigo’s voice rose. “Fucking _tell them,_ asshole!”

 _“You,”_ the man snarled instead, and started storming toward them. The crowd parted before him, quieting in anticipation of a fight.

Matt, assuming the man was after Ichigo, was taken by surprise when a hand closed around his arm, tight enough to bruise. He tensed, bracing to break the grip, but someone else moved first.

Ishida apparently took exception to the stranger’s actions and landed a solid hit to his sternum, winding him enough that he let go almost immediately.

“You’re a _menace,”_ Ishida hissed at him, words tight with righteous anger. “Go home.”

“You don’t know _shit_ about me,” the man snapped back, and shoved him.

Matt and Ichigo moved at the same time, catching him on each shoulder before he could press his advantage and pushing him back, and then another man came out of the woodworks to support his friend and what ended up happening was, all of them got kicked out of the bar for starting a fight, each nursing a few bruises but smug with satisfaction.

They ended up on a bench a street or so away, streetlights buzzing around them and a few passersby giving them a small berth. Ishida was still breathing a little hard, as much with surprise as exertion.

“I can’t believe we did that,” he muttered, sounding displeased, again. The guy was so difficult.

Matt was smirking a little, knuckles bruised and stinging. “The woman’s okay,” he said cheerfully, leaning back in place with his hands wrapped around his cane. “She left in the middle, called her friend.”

Ichigo grunted. “Good. That guy was bad news.”

“You two were _expecting_ that,” Ishida accused, and Matt grinned unrepentantly, hearing Ichigo let out a huff that was almost laughter. “God, why do I hang out with you?”

“Blasphemy,” Matt murmured.

“You’re a glutton for punishment,” Ichigo said at the same time, snorting at Matt. “And also, you fucking suck at pretending not to care.”

“Hm.”

Matt stood up, swaying a little again, and announced, “I’m gonna flush this away and get a six-pack from the convenience store. We’re not nearly done tonight.” His grin was feral again, and he was sure Ichigo’s matched.

“Yeah, do that,” Ichigo agreed, and Matt tapped his cane against the ground and then started heading over, steering around a stray fire hydrant.

He returned a few minutes later, the promised beers in hand.

“This is illegal,” the pre-law student noted idly, sitting by the other two and putting his prize on the bench.

Ichigo snorted. “Who cares,” he muttered. “You’ll know if someone notices.”

Matt grinned and passed them out. “Yup.”

Almost at the same time, each of them opened their beer and took a swig.

“We kinda outnumbered that guy,” Matt mused after a few minutes, tipping his head up to face the sky. “Does that make us the bad guys?”

Ichigo snorted. “He was trying to drug someone. He’s _definitely_ the asshole.” Swish and swallow. “I wanna hit him more.”

Ishida smacked him. “He won’t hurt anyone else tonight, Kurosaki,” he reminded him tartly. “We managed to achieve that much, at least.”

Ichigo hummed discontentedly. “It’s not _enough.”_ He kicked the wall behind him. “He’ll be back out tomorrow, or the day after, or- whenever.”

“Can’t do anything about it, Kurosaki.” But Ishida sounded unhappy too. Swish and swallow. “Anyway, there’s plenty more going on tonight. Always is.”

“Yeah, there is!” Ichigo snapped, and stomped outright this time. “It fucking sucks!”

Matt’s mouth pulled into a scowl, too. “It’s _awful,”_ he agreed tightly. “There’s- too much. There shouldn’t be this many people calling out. There shouldn’t be _anyone-”_ He cut himself off and swung the bottle back, swallowing to avoid speaking.

“Aren’t there people doing something about this?” Ishida demanded. “For God’s sake. All it takes is _someone.”_

“We must _dissent_ from the _indifference,”_ Matt quoted, rapping his cane against the ground at appropriate points for emphasis. “We must dissent from the _apathy._ We must dissent from the _fear,_ the _hatred,_ and the _mistrust.”_ Tap. “We must _dissent_ from a nation that has _buried its head in the sand,_ waiting in vain for the needs of its poor, its elderly, and its sick to _disappear_ and just _blow away.”_

Ishida paused. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he accused.

Ichigo’s wild grin was audible in his voice – just a hint of the doubled tones of his hollow. “Why not? We have the skills.”

“For God’s sake,” Ishida said again, and then he drank.

He didn’t refuse.

A few minutes later, when each of them had finished their first bottles and were making their way through their second, he swallowed and said,

“I need a bow.”

With that said, he stood up, stumbled noticeably, and made his way into the convenience store they still lingered near. Curious, Matt tilted his head and listened as Ishida made his way through, picking up a few things, and then finally finished and said to the cashier,

“I want to buy… _all_ of your toothpicks.”

There was a mechanical noise and a beep as the cashier started to scan the items Ishida had chosen.

“Why?” the cashier asked, probably unable to sound less interested if they’d tried.

“I need to _shoot people,”_ Ishida said fiercely.

The cashier didn’t ask any more questions.

“Is Ishida really going to shoot people with toothpicks?” Matt asked Ichigo. Ichigo made a pleased sound.

“He’ll reinforce them,” he explained smugly. “It’ll be like getting shot with a nail gun, except. Not.”

Matt allowed himself a grin, too. “Great.”

A minute later, Ishida returned, his findings clinking together in a plastic bag. He sat back down beside Ichigo and started taking stuff out. Since his attention seemed to have lapsed, Ichigo took the opportunity to steal his friend’s beer and finish it.

“Hey,” Ishida muttered, but didn’t actually turn his attention away from what he was doing. Matt smelled something sickly sweet and wrinkled his nose, and then heard a plop and then a wooden ‘snap.’ A few minutes after, the smell of glue.

“Neat trick,” Ichigo conceded graciously, elbowing Matt roughly. “He’s making a bow. A tiny one.”

“I am doing this under _duress,”_ Ishida insisted, without stopping. “You’re both- _jerks._ Because you _tricked_ me.”

“And yet,” Matt said, entirely too smugly, “you haven’t left yet.”

Ishida growled. Ichigo high-fived Matt discreetly, which involved bumping his hand behind Ishida’s back.

A few minutes passed in relative quiet, and Matt leaned back, stretching his senses thoughtfully. A crying baby in a building across the street. A couple arguing two blocks away. A few lingering plus souls, and a hollow roar in the far distance. A couple of stray cats fighting over something rotten.

“Admire my work,” Ishida demanded suddenly, shoving his creation into Matt’s hands.

Matt took it gracefully, running his fingers lightly over the contraption. Popsicle sticks, he thought, which explained the sugar syrup. Still stained and sticky. Tiny bits of not-quite-dried glue, now clinging to his fingers, thanks Ishida. And a sturdy rubber band.

A grin curled his mouth again, and he shoved the bow back at Ishida.

“There’s a mugging two blocks away,” he said without preamble, and waved his cane. “That way.”

“Fuck,” Ichigo said eloquently, and a moment later he was up and grabbing Matt’s arm, pulling him up. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s _go.”_

Matt stumbled a little, partly from inebriation and partly from surprise. “Hey!” he protested, shoving Ichigo irritably while he repositioned his cane to actually be of use. “Cut that out.”

“Hurry up, then,” Ichigo sniped, not letting go but not dragging him on either. Ishida took up the back, and Matt was sure he was rolling his eyes at them.

The mood shifted. Ichigo’s breathing changed, and Ishida’s heart sped up. Matt’s did, too, anticipation rising up and swirling around him, sharpening the world even as it continued to sway and dip. Clearer than the rest, there was a quavering moan and a low, sharp threat, the clinking of keys and coins.

Ichigo swung around a corner and let go of Matt’s arm as they both stumbled to a halt, and then he called out, “Hey! You!”

Way to sound like a thug, Ichigo.

It caught the mugger’s attention, though, and the man gasped again and pressed against the building, skin scraping lightly against concrete. Anger burned hot through Matt’s veins, and he shifted.

“Turn around and leave, and no one has to get hurt,” the mugger said ominously, and Matt caught the thwick of a switchblade. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

The groan of a miniature bow was much higher-pitched than a full-sized one, Matt learned, and a tiny projectile flashed over his shoulder before sinking into the mugger’s shoulder, making him reel back with a cry.

Smirking, Matt took the opening and rushed him, while Ichigo went for the man and started tugging him out of the alley and toward the larger street, murmuring vague reassurances.

In one, two, three hits with his cane, the mugger was down and out, and Matt wanted to keep _hitting,_ make sure he never thought of doing this again, not for the rest of his life-

“Oh my _God,_ you’re a psycho,” Ishida griped, sounding more put-upon than alarmed, and Matt let the man pull him off.

Both of them stumbled to the end where Ichigo had gone and flopped to the ground, ignoring the groaning would-be mugger. Matt giggled.

“You shot him with a _toothpick,”_ he said delightedly. “And it went _all the way through.”_ He’d heard it smack into the wall and clatter to the ground after.

“Reishi-reinforced,” Ishida said, smug again. “Perfect for regular morons, don’t you think?”

Matt hummed his agreement and let his head fall back against the wall, angling his face toward Ichigo as he returned. “He okay?” he asked.

Ichigo grunted. “Yeah. Little argumentative, but who cares. He’s someone else’s problem now.” He plopped down beside Matt. “What now?”

“What, again?” Ishida demanded.

“You want to _stop?”_ Ichigo had every right to sound skeptical. “Matt could find stuff all night if he wanted. _We_ could too, if we took the rooftops.”

“’M too drunk for rooftops,” Ishida muttered, and then, louder, “Yes, fine, what poor sap is being beaten up now?”

Matt grinned triumphantly and pressed his head back against the wall, hoping it would sharpen his focus. After a few moments, he started struggling to stand, and Ishida stood and dragged him up as Ichigo followed.

“That dealer laced his stuff with _rat poison,”_ he announced, catching himself on Ishida before he straightened up properly.

He led the way this time.

* * *

It was two in the morning and they were on their seventh transition of the night when Matt went still and cocked his head. Ichigo tripped and cursed as he caught himself on the wall, then swiveled toward Matt.

“What?” he demanded, somewhere between irritated and suspicious.

Matt tilted his head the other way, and then back, as if triangulating, and he felt his mind struggle to clear itself. He backed up one step, then two, and leaned back on the wall. His hand tightened around his cane.

“Human traffickers,” he said at last, more serious than he’d been at any other point that night. He bit his cheek. “There’s- a lot. Of people. Women mostly, a few kids, some men.” Tilt, and he waved his hand. “That way. Three blocks?” It was getting harder to judge distances.

“Fuck,” Ishida cursed loudly, listing against the wall. “Why do I hang out with you people?”

“Because you have great taste in friends,” Ichigo told him, and then crossed his arms and huffed. “Where’s my damn _sword_ when I need it?”

“On your back,” Matt said absently, not registering the oddness of that for a few moments. Then, “Wait, what?” He was sure he’d have noticed Ichigo abandoning his body somewhere.

“What the fuck?” Ichigo demanded, and grabbed at Zangetsu. “What the _fuck?”_

“About damn time,” was Ishida’s contribution, referring to how Ichigo had been trying to do that for months, and Ichigo growled again, relaxing nonetheless and letting go of his sword.

“Hey, fuck you too,” he muttered, and a moment after, “We need backup. I’m calling Chad.”

He called Chad.

* * *

Chad was judging them. Matt had sort of been expecting this, but really, he didn’t need to make it so _audible._

But because he was Chad and was one of Ichigo’s oldest and most loyal friends for a reason, he didn’t say anything against them. Instead, he asked,

“Plan?”

“Uh,” Ichigo said eloquently, and Matt elbowed him. Ichigo elbowed him back. “Matt?”

They’d moved closer to the warehouse while waiting for Chad, and Matt should be able to pick up on a little more from here. He cocked his head again, and it was a long, long moment before he spoke.

“It’s mostly women in there,” he said tersely. “And a few kids, and a couple men. Some of them are crying, I smell blood, can’t hear broken bones from here. Some of them were just caught today, some have been here longer. _Fuck,_ I’m going to _kill_ them-” And the devil inside him _howled-_

“Calm,” Chad reminded him, setting a large hand on his shoulder. “What else?”

Matt took a deep breath, and then sneezed.

“Guns,” he summarized, frowning as his focus shifted just slightly, the heat of anger sliding back to wait even as his hands threatened to shake. “I smell a lot of gunpowder. Who needs that much gunpowder? It smells awful. I bet it’s all over the floor.”

“Don’t lick the floor,” Ichigo told him. Matt stuck his tongue out at him.

“If I lick the floor I’ll know where they’ve been lately,” he said petulantly. Stick had spent _ages_ teaching him how to glean information from dirt samples.

“That’s _disgusting,”_ Ishida complained.

“Isn’t it?” Ichigo muttered.

“Oh, screw off,” Matt griped. “I’m not asking _you_ to lick the floor.”

“No one is licking the floor,” Chad interrupted, sounding entirely too reasonable. “Matthew, what can you hear?”

Matt bit his cheek again, listening. “They’ll move them at the end of the week,” he said after a moment. “And they’re laughing about how bad the food is, it smells moldy.” He scowled. “They’re such _dicks.”_

“Yeah, well, they’re about to regret their life choices, aren’t they?” Ichigo countered, voice low. “About the only thing Ishida’s toothpick arrows are good for.”

“Hey!” Ishida snapped, but didn’t actually argue.

Chad hummed, and then said, “Ichigo and I will go in front. Ishida, Matthew, you and Ishida go around back and come in through there.”

“Don’t call me _Matthew,”_ Matt complained, but he nodded and gestured at Ishida to lead the way, grabbing his arm after because he trusted neither his ability to stay upright nor his ability to keep from tripping over things when his focus was elsewhere.

The creep around the side of the warehouse was painfully slow; Ishida’s heartbeat was slow and steady and his footsteps overcautious, the tendons under Matt’s hand subtly tightening and loosening reflexively.

Matt tilted his head without stopping when he heard the door bust down; Ichigo, probably, who overbalanced and tumbled down afterward, grunting as he hit the ground. Chad’s heartbeat sped up immediately, and then he was moving and Ichigo was up and walking again just as the shouts of the guards began to greet them.

And then gunfire.

“Stop squeezing my arm like you’re trying to break it,” Ishida grouched, shaking it slightly. Matt hummed a little (he could taste blood now) and loosened his grip, and they rounded the corner.

“Where’s the door?” Matt asked, and stumbled as Ishida shifted to shove him lightly toward it. He tossed an unamused look over his shoulder but made his way forward, found the door, and tried to knob; locked. “It’s locked. Think we can knock it down?”

 _“No,”_ Ishida said sternly, reaching forward to shake his shoulder slightly. Matt huffed.

“Fine. Gimme a toothpick.” He reconsidered. “Two.”

Ishida tossed them his way, and he scowled at the man when they thwicked against the ground, then bent down and picked them up and stuck one in his mouth as he sniffed the air.

Blood – most fresh, a little dried. Salt, from tears probably. Cigarette smoke, unwashed bodies, bad food.

He took the toothpick from his mouth and bent it, just a little, and together with the other, started to fumble with the lock.

“Ichigo just knocked the front door down,” Matt said, a little sullenly.ss

“We are not Ichigo,” Ishida deadpanned back, and Matt made another disgruntled sound, and then nodded as the lock clicked. With a twist of the knob, the door opened inward and Matt tumbled in with exactly as much grace as Ichigo had a minute before.

The guards, of course, were a little distracted with the battle in the front room of the building, so Ishida had time to get in a few good shots before people started taking notice, and Matt in turn had time to get up and start charging, wielding his cane like a weapon – which it was. Urahara had made it special, at Ichigo’s, ah, _request._

He grinned a little. Seven guards in back, thirteen in front. For the four of them? Easy.

For the next few minutes, it’s a rush; Matt’s senses are sharp and his fists (and sometimes his cane) hit flesh over and over, and while he falls down a few times (as often from overbalancing dodging a shot as from return blows) he always gets back up.

Some of the victims are breathing too fast; he’ll help them after. The children are mostly not crying anymore. The guards are shouting back and forth, shocked and alarmed and caught by surprise.

He grins.

Finally, it’s quiet, the noises of the city filtering back in and a few grunts and thuds as Ichigo and Chad finished off a few next door. Matt was sore all over, panting slightly, and his glasses were lost somewhere along the way; he just had his cane now.

All of the backroom guards were on the ground, breathing hitched with broken ribs or just deep with unconsciousness.

He waved at Ishida, who is already moving from group to group releasing them – Matt could hear the snap of zip-ties and the clinking of locks. Quiet murmurs of gratitude and confusion started to rise as he stumbled into the other room, just as Ichigo was engaging the last guard – taking too long, playing with him.

“Hey! Chad!” Matt called, ignoring his other friend for now. “Did you bring bandages?”

“Yes,” Chad said, sounding tired. Matt chose to assume that it was from fighting off a horde of goons. It was possibly even not wrong.

“How many?” Matt asked.

“I went to a store and bought all of them, on my way here.”

“Great! Can you give them to Ishida? I think we’re all fine but some of the people back there got hurt.” He gave Chad what he hoped was a winning grin, listing against the doorframe slightly as the adrenaline left him.

“Hm.”

Chad started moving toward him and he shifted out of the way, sliding down to the ground with his back to the wall, and started fiddling with the strap of his cane instead. And then he started laughing, very quietly, head tipping back to rest against the wall.

A few minutes later, Ichigo stumbled in, tripped, and fell on the ground beside Matt with a grunt, where he stayed, head lolling to rest against Matt’s knee.

“Where are your glasses?” Ichigo asked after a moment, with an audible frown.

“They broke,” Matt said, smile fading as a hint of sullenness crept into his tone. “Should’ve asked Urahara for special glasses when he made my cane.”

“Do it later,” Ichigo offered, shifting in a rasp of clothing on concrete.

Matt hummed agreement and closed his eyes, listening to Ishida mutter irritably to himself as he treated extremely confused patients. At the back door, Chad was calling the police.

“Look like human trafficking victims. Yes. No. I don’t know. Yes, sir. I do know the address.”

Matt grinned a little at the ceiling as Chad continued to adamantly _not_ explain what had happened, knowing full well they’d be gone by the time any police arrived.

“Vigilantism is illegal,” he murmured, not really expecting a response.

“Who cares?” Ichigo grumbled, still on the ground beside him. “I’m sleeping for a year after this. Ugh.”

“Did a good job, though,” Matt offered.

“I hate all of you,” Ishida said from halfway across the room, startling Matt a little; he hadn’t realized Ishida could hear them. “This is _all your fault.”_

“Not _all,”_ Matt protested, recovering.

 _“All,”_ Ishida stressed. “I’m never drinking with you again.”

“Sure you will,” Ichigo disagreed, not moving his head at all. He didn’t bother backing this up; he probably didn’t need to.

Ishida growled, and then Chad appeared behind him and set a hand on his shoulder, settling him.

“We should go,” Chad said quietly.

 _“Hm,”_ Ishida said, with great dignity and irritation. He stuttered to his feet, unsteady but sure, and started making his way out the back while Chad crossed toward them.

“I hear sirens,” Matt mumbled as Chad reached them and pulled Ichigo to his feet, letting the other man lean against him. “And blood.” Wait. “Uh.”

“It’s taken care of,” Chad assured him, reaching down to pull him up as well. Matt grunted, and Ichigo complained,

“It’s only- um.”

“It’s four in the morning, Ichigo.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s time to go home.”

“Who says?” Chad remained conspicuously silent, and Ichigo sighed. “Fine.”

They reached the door, where Ishida was waiting, and Chad nodded, close enough for Matt to feel, and Ishida started walking with them again, while they made their way away from the distantly approaching sirens.

“I’m out of toothpicks,” Ishida mumbled, apparently forgetting his earlier animosity. Chad reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s okay. You can get more tomorrow.”

_“Hm.”_


End file.
